BOOKER Box Set #2 (A Private Investigator Thriller Series of Crime and Suspense): Volumes 4-6

by John W. Mefford

I turned to Zahi. “Agreed?”

  Zahi waved his hand, then pushed up his sports coat and checked the time on a watch worth more than my condo. “Are we finally finished with the games? I have a business to run.”

  He seemed agitated.

  Mr. Clean put the SUV in drive and pulled away from the curb.

  “Mr. Clean,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “I didn’t hear you tell your cohorts to leave us be.”

  I heard a sigh, then in a hushed tone Mr. Clean told whoever was listening that everything was clear.

  “Good boy.”

  Twisting my head toward Zahi, I kept my firearm on my knee pointed at the driver. They didn’t know that I’d slid the safety on.

  Zahi stared at the gun for a second then pulled his eyes up to me. “Finally. Tell me, Mr. Adams, what’s so fucking important? Tell me.”

  “Natalie.”

  “What? I’ve told you everything about her. I opened up to you much more than I ever planned, even sharing my personal feelings for her. This is ludicrous and a violation of my rights.” He held up a finger as if he were making a speech to a legion of protesters.

  “I don’t want to argue the past, Zahi. But the first time we spoke, it took more than a little coaxing to get you to tell me the truth…or what you portrayed as the truth.”

  I wrapped my arm around the seat and popped Mr. Clean on his upper arm. “How’s that shoulder these days?”

  He forced out a breath, then brought the SUV to a stop at a red light, still in downtown.

  A few horns beeped around us, but the noise sounded like the nearby cars were wearing silencers.

  “You don’t like ambient noise, do you?” I asked Zahi.

  He gave me a confused look, the palms of his hands turning upward.

  “Scrap that. You were trying to convince me that you’ve told me the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me…fill in the blank. Right?”

  “I do not lie,” he said, his voice suddenly calm.

  “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and you’ll have one opportunity to answer each question. One.”

  “Or you’ll kill us like it’s the Old West?”

  “I’ve got a friend who could hack into your company’s internal network and bring the whole thing down, divert money to a charity in South America, or just load some embarrassing pictures on your website.”

  “Just ask your questions.”

  He already looked beaten down, so we were off to a nice start.

  “When was your first date with Natalie?”

  Shaking his head, he looked away. “I don’t know. I think sometime in March?”

  “That wasn’t a confident answer. Do you need to look at your calendar?”

  He twisted his mouth this way and that, like he was chewing cud. I got the sense he didn’t appreciate being under anyone’s thumb.

  Without saying a word, he yanked his phone from his inside coat pocket and flicked his thumb across the screen. He punched the glass as if it were an electric typewriter. I recalled Momma using one of those when I was a youngster.

  “And?”

  “The third of March. That was our first date,” he said, returning the phone to his coat pocket.

  “Final answer?”

  His eyebrows almost met in the middle of his forehead. “Yes, it’s my final answer.” He turned his head to the window and mumbled, “Asshole.”

  I ignored his opinion of me.

  “Do you know or have you ever heard of someone named BVD?”

  Another confused look, or so it appeared. Given Zahi’s thespian-like qualities, it was difficult to determine fact or fiction, or in his case, a loose interpretation of both.

  “BVD? Is that the acronym for a company name?”

  “It’s the name of a rapper in…you tell me.”

  He released a chuckle while leaning forward and straightening his coat. “I’m sorry, but I don’t interact with rap stars.”

  “Big Vice Daddy.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “BVD stands for Big Vice Daddy.” I studied Zahi’s tan face, looking for any hint of familiarity with the name…or what it stood for.

  “The name means nothing to me. And frankly, I think rappers are a bunch of thugs with no musical talent.”

  While I knew he was partially correct, I couldn’t let it go. “What the hell are you talking about? Kanye West, Eminem, and what about Jay Z? He could buy your ass twice over.”

  “Those people do not mix with my people.”

  “Can you smell the shit you’re dishing out?”

  He waved me off then checked his watch. “Curt, how close are we?”

  “Another ten minutes, Mr. Kareem. Lots of road construction today, sir.”

  Zahi looked at me as if I were subjecting him to torture. Actually, the reverse was true, but I had a method to my madness and now was the time to throw a high heater just under his chin.

  “You cross paths with a lot of pretty young girls, do you not?”

  “Is that a crime? I don’t think so.”

  “Kind of like your…harem?”

  “You’re making a poor attempt to make it seem like I’m a polygamist. But I’m not married to one woman, let alone several.”

  “You’re right, it was a poor choice of words.”

  He nodded, acknowledging my inferior use of language.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you have a side business where you…sell time with your flock of girls?”

  He choked then broke out into a full-fledged cough. “Are you calling me a pimp?”

  “You used the term, not me.”

  “That’s insanity.”

  His voice came across a tad hollow. Just then, my phone buzzed, and I pulled it out and read a text from Alisa.

  Got access to Nat’s account. Got 2k near time she was in Miami, another 2k march 3. Other payments too.

  I typed in a response.

  Who made the payments?

  Zahi glanced at my phone then turned back to the window. “When I get to my appointment, I’m getting out of this SUV and walking inside the building. That’s a statement, not a question.”

  I held back a response, hoping Alisa would know the answer. A blue wave of text flashed on the screen. It read:

  PPI. Nothing from Zahi—not directly.

  Adrenaline flooded my body, but I drew in a breath and kept my cool.

  “I’m not a cop. I don’t have the penal code open ready to write you a ticket. I only want the truth…to help find Natalie.”

  Turning to me, Zahi’s eyes softened, and he gave one nod. “Yes?”

  “Did you pay Natalie to have sex with you?”

  His eyes shifted away for a split second then back at me. “No.”

  A quick image from my past shot through my mind: Henry quizzing the head coach and athletic director at the University of Texas back when we were still in school. He came across like a lawyer on center stage years before he’d received his law degree.

  I asked myself how Henry would view Zahi’s one-word answer.

  “Did you pay PPI to have Natalie have sex with you?”

  Scratching his chin, I could see his Adam’s apple pop out as he swallowed, his eyes gazing at a cluster of trees in a small park.

  He finally turned to look at me. “I don’t pay to have sex with anyone. Why would I? Look at everything I have to offer.”

  I sensed his wheels turning as fast as mine, which only told me he knew more than he was saying. Eyeing my handgun for a moment, I knew I wasn’t a violent man. It shouldn’t take threatening a person’s life to get the truth.

  “Zahi, I’m not stupid. I can see there’s something there. If you ever cared for Natalie at all, I need the full truth.”

  He glanced at his driver then pushed air through his nose. “I’d seen Natalie on the social scene a number of times. She caught my eye, and I think I caught hers.”

  I could have questioned his opinion of himself, but I wanted to see h
ow far he’d take this. I simply nodded and continued staring at him.

  “I gave her my card and asked her to call me if she was interested. And…”

  He paused.

  “This stays between us,” he said, laying a hand on the seat between us.

  “I’m no cop. I only want to find Natalie.”

  Lifting his chest, he said, “Instead of receiving a call from Natalie, I received a call from PPI, saying I needed to book my time with their talent. At first, I didn’t understand what she was telling me. She never actually used the word prostitute, but after a couple of minutes, I realized that’s how they viewed Natalie. As a prostitute. Can you believe it?”

  Zahi turned to me with lines etched into his face.

  “What else did they tell you?”

  “The woman was very businesslike. She gave me the terms of the arrangement, the pricing, everything. It seemed like I was buying a hot sports car over the phone.”

  His analogies were interesting, but I focused on pulling out more information. “So, obviously it didn’t deter you from using the service, going out with Natalie?”

  “I thought it would only be one date, honestly. I found her intriguing and witty. And yes, beautiful. She surprised me with how much…substance she had,” he said, rubbing a thumb into the palm of his opposite hand.

  “Did you—””

  “You don’t have to say it. No, we didn’t have sex. I could tell she expected me to, but I didn’t try. We had a wonderful evening and a simple kiss goodbye.”

  “But there was a second date?”

  “Of course. I couldn’t stop myself. And yes, I paid for it. She was different, I tell you. But we didn’t have sex on that date either.”

  It seemed liked he wanted a pat on the back.

  “I would ask if you ever ran out of money, but I doubt that’s possible.”

  “True. Money is not really a concern for me.”

  “What made you guys break up, then…if that’s what you want to call it?”

  He pursed his lips, his hands fidgeting more. “I think I paid for four or five dates. But she could see I wasn’t just looking for…”

  “I get it.”

  “We started opening up, talking more about life and what made us happy. Then…” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that, I stopped receiving phone calls from PPI before our dates. We started dating like a real couple, and it was nice. We did everything together, simple things. We took walks in the park, went to the movies, out to eat. I dare say, we were falling in love.”

  His voice had lowered a half octave. As he stared out the window, his eyes seemed lost.

  I wanted to remind Zahi that Natalie hadn’t even turned twenty years old, but I knew it wouldn’t help find her any faster.

  “Thanks for giving me the scoop. But if you guys cared so much for each other, why aren’t you still dating? If you were, it sounds like she’d be safe.”

  He pinched the corners of his eyes. “Damn girl. I knew she’d find trouble.” He curled his hand into a fist then slowly let it drop onto his knee.

  “What? What happened?”

  “I cannot say. I’m as clueless as you are, it appears,” he said.

  “Tell me why you broke up.”

  He punched his thigh then pointed a finger right at me. “Because I couldn’t deal with her screwing all of her customers while we dated. It just wasn’t right.”

  While I’d suspected as much, hearing Zahi admit it took the air out of my lungs.

  “But why did she keep doing it?”

  “I kept asking her the same thing,” he said, his arms now in constant motion. “I gave her all the clothes she ever wanted. I offered to pay for her rent, insurance, anything for her to stop. She wouldn’t listen to reason. She only said that she wanted to make it on her own, with no one’s help.”

  Shaking my head, I scratched my goatee. “Crazy.”

  My phone buzzed, and I glanced down. Another text from Alisa.

  Call me.

  I tucked my gun away just as Curt spoke up. “Two more lights, Mr. Kareem.”

  “Thank you, Curt.”

  Another text came in from Alisa.

  I’m following you. Pull over. Need to talk. BTW, this is Des.

  What the fuck? I jerked my head around and peered through the heavily tinted window. Wait. There it was, Alisa’s faded green Toyota Corolla, at least a dozen years old. She was at the wheel, but I noticed at least one other person in the car. I squinted. It looked like Des, the PPI producer we interviewed, Was Alisa okay?

  My pulse took off in a sprint, and I reached for the door handle while the SUV was still moving.

  “Something wrong?” Zahi asked.

  “Not sure. I gotta get out of here.” I glanced behind me and spotted the green machine pulling closer.

  “Just up here on the right, Mr. Kareem,” Curt said.

  “One more quick thing. You mentioned these phone calls from PPI to take your payment, set up your date with Natalie. Do you know if their talent management business is just a ruse for the prostitution business?”

  “That I do not know for certain. I asked very few questions.” He shrugged his shoulders.

  “Did the PPI person give you her name? Would you recognize her voice again if you heard it?”

  Pressing his lips against his teeth, the man with great power, money, and influence seemed stressed by the question. Zahi gripped the leather seat in front of him, squeezing until his hand shook. “Booker, I want you to know how important finding Natalie is to me. I’ve had my security detail look into her disappearance.”

  Swinging around in my seat, I looked him in the eye. “Do you know where she is or who took her?”

  “I’m sorry. I wish I did. They couldn’t get very far without creating…an incident.”

  “But you do know who was on the other end of the phone…essentially Natalie’s pimp?”

  Shaking his head, he said, “It was Tiara. She never said her name, but I’d interacted with her at a few social events. Without a doubt, it was her.” He cleared his throat, his eyes finding the floorboard. “In person, Tiara was a vision of loveliness. Strange to think of her as a conniving—” He cut himself off.

  Curt veered right and sidled up next to a curb. Two glass buildings, each about ten stories high, were on the other side of an open swath of concrete. I noticed two pretzel vendors drawing a crowd, one anchored at each end of the courtyard.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing else I need to know?”

  He put a hand on my forearm. “Just know that I pray every night that Natalie is okay. I cannot wait to see her again. Not that I think we have a chance as a couple, but she brought so much positive energy to my life, everyone’s life she touched. You have my support. Find her, Booker. Find her.”

  We both left out of opposite doors, but for the first time, it felt like Zahi and I both wanted the same thing.

  19

  I ate my knees as rubber squeaked off the concrete surface. The jerky g-force nearly gave me a whiplash, ramming my head into the sloped ceiling of a car meant for tiny human beings.

  “Ouch,” I said, rubbing the contusion.

  “Sorry, Booker. I’m just a little frantic and all.”

  Hunkering over the steering wheel, Alisa’s body was angled forward as if she were skiing down a slope. Her movements were stiff, her hands red and white.

  “Oh shit balls, that blue sedan has been following us for the last two blocks.”

  A guy sitting to my left in the back seat of Alisa’s tiny Toyota flopped across the back seat like a fish out of water.

  Des was riding shotgun, apparently in charge of texting, while Alisa guided the four of us around the city.

  I took another look at the guy to my left. Wearing the skinniest of skinny jeans, tennis shoes with no socks, and a burgundy T-shirt three sizes too small, the anxious kid with a block of charcoal hair that would put Elvis to shame was chewing his nails.

  “Where are we going
, anyway? And what’s with all the, uh…” Locking eyes with Alisa in the rearview, I flipped my head toward Elvis. “You know, the paranoia?”

  “We can’t just roam around in public hoping someone doesn’t take us out. I won’t talk unless I’m safe. And right now I can’t say we’re safe,” Elvis said, my brain barely able to process his rapid-fire response.

  A little nugget of anxiety formed in my gut, afraid that this somehow was connected to Natalie. But it was battling my investigative instinct that we needed to detour this traveling party to the Uptown PPI offices.

  Tiara had lied to us a few days ago—that was painfully evident. But Zahi’s declaration didn’t settle anything. It only flooded my mind with more questions. How big an operation was she running? Was it truly part of the PPI business? Was Chas in on it as well, or had Tiara set up a rogue operation solely to enhance her personal bank account? For some reason, my thoughts went straight to the Hollywood Madam, Heidi Fleiss, and her public trial that ended up exposing a ton of A-list clients. Tiara must be extremely well connected, at least in that area. I wondered how far someone would go to keep his or her name out of the public eye.

  “Booker, did you hear Garrett? He doesn’t think he’s safe, which means no one in this car’s safe,” Alisa said, her eyes shifting from the rearview to the side mirror.

  “Why can’t we go back to The Jewel?” I could feel everyone else’s tension penetrate my core. I tried to sit up in my seat, but I banged my head again. “Dammit.”

  “Not possible. They might be watching the bar. It’s too obvious,” she said, sounding more like an undercover FBI agent.

  Pressure built along the crease of my hairline. “Hang a left here.”

  “Here?” Alisa yelled.

  “Yes, here!” Gripping the headrest in front of me, I felt the tiny car surge right. I wasn’t sure how Alisa kept all four wheels touching pavement.

  “Shit!” Des exclaimed, slamming a hand to the dashboard.

  “Now where?” Alisa asked.

  “Take this left on Field.” Ducking lower so I wouldn’t bang my head, I turned and peered through the back window. Typical day traffic for Dallas. I had no idea if we were being followed.

  “Can someone tell me why we’re trying to evade an imaginary tail?”

  “I think Garrett might be overstating his—”